“That is no coyote,” said Loseis sharply. “They never come so close to the Post.”
Mary-Lou moaned.
The cry was repeated; and was answered from down the river.
“That coyote is afloat in a canoe,” said Conacher with a grim chuckle. “The men who went down the river to-day have been instructed to come back at evening to watch us.”
Another heartrending howl was raised from the hill back of the store.
“The outposts are establishing communications,” said Conacher, carrying it off lightly in order to hearten the girls. “Well, it’s a relief to know what and where they are. At this God-awful moment of the day you could imagine anything!”
For awhile the quavering cries went back and forth; then silence. Darkness drew slowly in. At first the sky across the river was like a sea of amber with one or two scraps of cloud floating in it like golden ships. As the warmth gradually faded out it took on the hue of blued steel. The moon was rising later now; to-night there would be an hour or so of darkness before her coming. Conacher had to strain his eyes to make out the details of the house across the way.
The slow minutes passed. In the big chimney the night-breeze kept up a gentle, uneven murmuring that was like somebody speaking to somebody else a little way off. Occasionally the man and the girl whispered from room to room in the dark just to reassure themselves of the other’s warm and breathing presence.
“Paul?”
“Yes, pardner?”